Divine Ascension: Reborn as a God of Power-Chapter 59: The Schism of Olympus (Part 19)

The room they’d given me was cold, despite the soft velvet lining the walls and the heat that clung to Hecate’s palace like perfume. A fire crackled quietly in the hearth, the only sound breaking through the silence. I lay on the bed, armor stripped down to the waist, my hands behind my head, staring at the ceiling.

There was too much noise in my mind. Plans, names, battles, faces. Too many what-ifs.

I wasn’t used to sleeping in a palace like this. It was all marble and luxury. And I could feel the power that pulsed just beneath the stone, like the whole structure breathed with Hecate’s own lungs.

However that didn’t stopped me from getting sleepy. And when my eyes were just beginning to close when the door opened without a knock.

And then, that was when the soft creak of ancient wood and the unmistakable scent of roses and smoke invaded the room.

I sat up before I saw her. "Aphrodite."

She stepped inside like she owned the room—and maybe she did. Draped in a silken robe that clung like a second skin, eyes half-lidded but sharp as ever. She didn’t look tired. She never looked tired.

She closed the door behind her.

She didn’t speak, not at first. She just stood there, framed by silver and shadow, like something out of a myth. I blinked the sleep from my eyes, rubbing at my face.

"You lost, or just haunting me now?" I asked, trying to keep the tone light.

She didn’t move closer. Instead, she stopped just out of reach—almost deliberately so.

"You think I’m here because of that," she said. Her voice wasn’t teasing this time. No flirtation. No smoke behind the words.

I looked at her a long second, then gave a cautious shrug. "You’re not?"

"I’m not." She said flatly.

I exhaled through my nose, running a hand through my hair. "Okay. Then why are you here?"

A pause. Her gaze shifted—not toward me, but away, to some far corner of the room. Her jaw tightened slightly.

"Because I need to know something," she said. "And you’re the only one who might give me an honest answer."

That caught me off guard. Aphrodite wasn’t someone who asked for answers. She gave them—usually with a smirk and a promise attached. This was... different.

"Alright," I said slowly. "Ask."

She stepped forward, but only slightly—still keeping her distance, as if unsure how close was too close. "Do you regret it?"

I didn’t need to ask what she meant.

I could still feel the imprint of her skin on mine, the softness of her lips pressed against my throat, the taste of ambrosia on her tongue. That night, lost between strategy meetings and whispers of war, we’d fallen into each other with the desperation of two beings who knew how fragile tomorrow might be.

But I also remembered the silence afterward.

The distance that immediately crept between us once the heat had cooled.

"Yes," I said. freewёbnoνel.com

She blinked, just once. But it was enough.

"I regret that it happened like that," I added quickly. "Not that it happened, maybe, but... that it meant nothing. Or at least it should’ve meant nothing."

"You really believe that?" Her voice was steady, but something in it was raw.

"I’m confused, Aphrodite," I said, sitting up straighter. "You’re the goddess of love. You’ve had centuries—millennia—of lovers and worshippers and poets writing odes to you. Why does this matter? Why do I matter in this way?"

She folded her arms, her expression unreadable. "Because you didn’t fall for me."

I blinked. "What?"

"You didn’t chase me. You didn’t worship me. You didn’t even want me for who I was. You didn’t see the goddess."

I frowned. "And that’s good? You feel seen because I didn’t see you?"

Aphrodite gave a quiet, bitter laugh. "You don’t get it. You’re probably the only man in centuries who touched me without being in love with the idea of me. That night... it wasn’t about worship, or titles, or divinity. It was about need. You needed something real. Something warm. And—fine—you dicked me down pretty well too."

I blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness. I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing coherent came out at first.

"It was still a mistake," I said eventually, quieter than I meant to.

Her smile faded. "To you."

"I regret it because I’m already with someone," I said, the words tasting like metal in my mouth. "And I don’t want to betray her. Not emotionally, not physically, not in any way. That night... it was intense. But it shouldn’t have happened."

She didn’t argue, not at first. Just stood there, hands loose at her sides, watching me with a strange stillness. It was rare to see her without some trace of flirtation in her posture. Now, there was none.

"Do you think I’m here to pick up where we left off?" she asked, more gently now.

"I don’t know," I admitted. "You didn’t exactly knock."

She gave a soft snort but didn’t rise to it. "I came here because I needed to hear it. From you. Not a strategist or a god with a war to win. Just you. The man who held me like he didn’t want to wake up alone."

That hit harder than I wanted it to.

"Look," I said, rubbing my face, "we were exhausted. Worn thin. The pressure, the war, the nightmares—I think it all just snapped."

"You’re not wrong," she said. "But don’t cheapen it either. We found each other when everything else felt like it was falling apart. And I’m not saying it was destiny or romance, gods no. But it was real."

I sighed and sat down at the edge of the bed, running a hand through my hair. "It complicates things."

"Of course it does," she said, stepping a little closer but still keeping her distance. "I’m not naive. I know where your heart leans. I’ve seen the way Aegle looks at you, and the way you soften around her. That’s not what this is about."

"Then what is it?"

Aphrodite hesitated, then finally said, "I needed to know I wasn’t just... disposable. That you didn’t walk away from that night thinking I was only some whore with who gave you a good time."

"I didn’t," I said. "But I’ve tried not to think about it at all."

"Because it makes you feel guilty?"

"Because it makes me feel like shit," I said, meeting her gaze. "And I can’t afford that right now."

She nodded, as if she understood. Maybe she did. "Funny, isn’t it? I’m the goddess of love, and somehow, I’m always the one reminding people that love is messy. That it doesn’t follow rules."

I looked at her, really looked. For a moment, the war, the organization, the throne—none of it mattered. Just the two of us in a quiet room, both pretending we hadn’t needed that night as badly as we did.

"I saw you that night," I said, finally. "And you weren’t what I thought you were. What I’m trying to say is... you’re awesome. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that before."

A small smile tugged at her lips. It was an honest smile. "That’s all I wanted to know."

"I’m sorry," I added, voice low. "If I made you feel like you were just... a mistake I’m trying to erase."

"You didn’t," she said, her tone still calm, but quieter now. "Not really. But you needed to say it. And I needed to hear it."

Silence stretched between us again, not heavy this time, but almost fragile. Like a moment suspended in glass.

She turned to go, her hand resting lightly on the doorframe. "You’re a good man, Akhon. Maybe too good for the war we’re about to start."

I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. "You think that’s still what I am? A good man?"

She looked back at me, eyes catching the dim moonlight that slipped through the curtains. "You still care, that’s rare in our ranks. Most of the others..." She trailed off, shook her head. "They’re in this for revenge, or power, or old wounds that never healed right. You? You’re here because someone asked for your help. Because people believe in you."

I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. She wasn’t wrong. But it still didn’t feel like enough.

"I think about that night more than I should," I admitted.

She tilted her head, curious, but said nothing.

"I think about what it meant," I went on. "What it didn’t mean. I’ve replayed it in my head, wondering if I crossed a line, or if I was just—feeling lonely."

"You were all of that," she said gently. "And so was I."

There was a long pause. Then she walked back into the room, slowly this time, with none of the divine bravado she usually carried like armor. She sat beside me on the edge of the bed, just far enough to give space, just close enough that I could feel her presence like heat on my skin.

"Do you remember what you said right after?" she asked.

I frowned. "I was too excited at the moment."

"You said, ’This won’t fix anything. But gods, I needed it.’"

I let out a breath through my nose. "That sounds like me."

She smiled again, then looked down at her hands. "I didn’t take it as a promise. Or a beginning. I’m not that naive. But it was... honest. And I don’t get a lot of that anymore."

"I guess I didn’t expect you to care," I said.

"That’s the thing," she whispered. "No one expects me to. But I do. I care more than anyone gives me credit for."

I looked at her then, really looked—past the flawless skin and eternal beauty, past the myths carved into marble and the poems penned in her name. There was a woman beneath the goddess.Vulnerable in a way she didn’t let show often.

"I see you," I said quietly. "Even now."

She didn’t answer right away. Her gaze met mine, unguarded, and for a second I saw something flicker in her—relief, maybe. Or gratitude. Or just... human pain.

"Thank you," she said finally. "For not pretending."

"I don’t think I could, even if I wanted to," I replied.

She gave a soft chuckle. "That’s the other thing. You’re one of the few men I’ve met who didn’t immediately try to write poetry after seeing me naked."

I laughed, dry and brief. "If I wrote anything, it won’t be something too different anyway."

We both laughed.

I shook my head, the tension between us easing slightly. "I meant what I said. You’re more than the role you play."

She stood again, slower this time. "You’re loyal to Aegle. I won’t push past that. I don’t want to ruin what’s already working."

"Thank you," I said. "For understanding."

"Don’t thank me yet," she said with a small smirk. "You’re still going to owe me one."

I raised an eyebrow. "For what?"

"For being able to keep a secret this juicy and not use it as leverage during the war. That takes restraint."

I smiled. "Thanks but it really didn’t take restraint, I don’t want her to find out, not now, not ever."

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